Shinigami
by TimeturnerJasmy
Summary: Of course things would change after becoming the God of Death. Rated T for mention of character death.


**Author's note: Thank you for reading this story. There are many fanfictions about Kid, but only a few of them really deal with his nature as a Shinigami. I think it is an aspect that deserves more attention, so I wrote my own thoughts down.**

 **This is a oneshot, but I might write more on the topic in the future.**

 **Yours, Timeturner**

 **88888888**

He had never expected it to be so incredibly alienating to become a true Shinigami.

Maka and Soul had contacted him via mirror to give him a report on their most recent mission. Everything had gone well, but it still made him feel uncomfortable.

Maka had given him a mock salute as a greeting, announcing the defeat of their target. When she was about to end the call, however, she made a stumble. "That would be all, Ki- er... I mean, Shinigami-sama."

She had worn a nervous expression. Soul had shrugged, but even he had given him an odd look.

They were not used to addressing him that formally.

He was not used to being addressed that formally by them, either.

So he had only given them a curt nod and ended the call.

'Death the Kid' had never been a name. It had been a title, simply there to show that his form as a Shinigami was not yet mature. Now that he had truly awoken, he did not need it anymore.

He had taken his father's place. He was now Death. He was _Death_.

That fact didn't make it any easier to take on his father's title. The first time Spirit had called him by the new name, he hadn't even realized that the Death Scythe was talking to him.

By the time of his Enthronement Ceremony, he had almost gotten used to it.

Then, his friends started using the title.

One day, Tsubaki had approached him, asking him to do Black Star a favour. "He is throwing a tantrum outside, and he says he won't stop if you don't allow him to solo that mission. I know that you are worried about his condition after the battle against Ashura, but I saw him training. He's fine. And you know that he can handle a mission like that."

He had given her an apologetic smile. "Sure. To be honest, I'd have send the two of you alone anyway, but I have so much paperwork to do lately. I must have overlooked it."

She had nodded in return. "If you are that busy, I won't keep you any longer. I knew you would understand, Shinigami-sama."

She had left at that point, not noticing his stunned expression.

The other members of Spartoi had followed her example after a while.

The only one who still stubbornly refused to use his new title was Black Star. "Like hell I'll call you Shinigami _-sama_!", he would shout. "Someone as awesome as me shouldn't have to treat you as if you've become all high and mighty!"

From that day on, Black Star simply called him "You there".

Secretly, the young Shinigami was grateful for the display of disrespect. Ever since Spartoi had started treating him formally, he felt somewhat left out, as if he didn't quite belong with his friends anymore.

 **88888888**

He had never expected it to be so incredibly bitter to become a true Shinigami.

In the beginning, he had not wanted to wear his father's mask. It would have made the inevitable gap between his friends and him even larger, would have isolated him even further.

He had changed his mind.

A while ago, he had noticed the first signs of age on his old friend's faces. Maka had lines from smiling. Liz had fine lines around her eyes. A few white strands shimmered through Tsubaki's ebony hair. Even Black Star was not unaffected by time. He never said anything about it, but the Reaper could sense that his friend's old scars were hurting lately.

The Shinigami caught his own gaze in the mirror. Clear, golden eyes stared back at him, surrounded by young, healthy skin. His face was framed by black hair, the only white in it forming three starkly outlined stripes. When he moved, his body obeyed smoothly and swiftly, not giving him any trouble.

His friends were ageing, and he still looked exactly like he did on the day they had stopped the Kishin.

He knew that there was nothing he could do about that.

But he _could_ make it easier, if not for himself, then at least for them.

His friends knew that he was immortal, the Shinigami reasoned, but he didn't have to rub it in their faces. He'd leave it up to their imagination what kind of face was hidden behind the mask. That way, they could picture him getting older together with them – or maybe the mask would alienate his person so much that it didn't matter either way.

Had he once been naïve enough to believe that this mask would isolate him from his group?

The Reaper gazed at his mirror image with a bitter smirk. It was exactly the other way around.

He stared at the white mask on his lap. It stared back at him, its expression completely blank.

He lifted it up. It was light as a feather.

"This is for the best."

Without another glance to the mirror, he covered his eternally young face with the mask and drew up the hood of his cloak.

 **88888888**

He had never expected it to be so incredibly cold to become a true Shinigami.

The Reaper stared at the fresh grave in front of him.

Reaching 102 years, Patty had lived a long life. She had been the last of Spartoi to go, leaving many children and grandchildren behind. Shinigami had been there for the first breath of all of them.

And he would be there for their last one.

He'd personally see them off to the other side, as was his duty.

His white mask stared on, expressionless.

He had cried when the first of his friends died.

Now, he had accepted his role in the world. He had found the true meaning of Order as he watched the world pass around him. He was a bastion of calm in the torrent of time, the only thing that remained as everything else was torn and swept away.

That was the Balance he had fought for.

Shinigami turned around, not wanting to look those thirteen gravestones any longer.

The world had moved on.

He was alone.

And that was good.

He was _Death_.


End file.
